


Jizz Floats

by inaslash



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur in a Speedo, Established Relationship, Flashbacks to Injury, Hand Jobs, Healing Injury, Hot Tub Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inaslash/pseuds/inaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble wherein Arthur gives Eames a handjob in a jacuzzi even though Arthur hates jacuzzis. Also, Arthur is on the edge of admitting that he's desperately in love with Eames. Because, you know, Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jizz Floats

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have a beta, but if you'd like to volunteer to be my beta or just have a few quick corrections to note, please let me know.

Eames is sitting in the Ritz-Carlton's jacuzzi, head tilted back to rest against the tile. Arthur can see the tension gradually slipping from Eames' features as the uncomfortably hot water loosens the knot of scar tissue beneath his left shoulder blade. Arthur hates hot tubs, but he'd put up with far worse as of late in an effort to show Eames that Arthur was - despite the endless stream of sarcasm and insults he habitually threw Eames' way - rather fond of him.  
   
When Eames hears Arthur padding across the tile towards the hot tub, he cracks his eyes open. Not wide, of course, because Arthur knows Eames likes to think of himself as subtle. Arthur puts just a little extra saunter in his step, happy to play up the assets his black speedo does nothing to hide if it enhances Eames' viewing pleasure.  
   
By the time Arthur is slipping into the steaming water, Eames has given up all pretense of subtlety. He watches Arthur with open appreciation, almost purring under his breath when Arthur moves through the water and comes to straddle Eames' lap.  
   
Arthur winds his hands into Eames' hair, tugging gently to expose his neck. He feels possessive as he nuzzles along Eames' carotid and can't resist the urge to chastise.  
   
"You're such an old man, Eames. Old men love soaking in jacuzzis."  
   
Eames gives a low chuckle, shoulders shaking gently. "If you say so, love."  
   
Arthur's grip in Eames' hair tightens, a wave of uncharacteristically tender affection catching him off guard and constricting his throat. He kisses Eames suddenly, less graceful than he would have liked, but otherwise perfect - hot and slick and a little sharp.  
   
Arthur pulls back a minute later, winded for reasons he can't quite bring himself to articulate just yet. Eames follows him, leaning forward and moving his arms down to wrap around Arthur's waist as if to lift him from the water.  
   
"No, no, Eames, just…" Arthur is pulling Eames' arms from around his waist, half-laughing in his attempt to dislodge Eames' absurd bulk. "Just stay!" Arthur's protests soften, then, suddenly a quiet plea. "Just let me, okay?"  
   
Eames is looking at him, a soft smile on his face. He shakes his head slightly, as if to protest, but then he sits back, pliant. "Okay, love. Okay."  
   
Arthur holds Eames' face and kisses him again, slower, and then lets his hands slide over Eames' shoulders and down his back. About half way, they hit the still-healing exit wound on Eames' left side - closed, now, but raised and angry even all these months later. Arthur knows it still hurts Eames - the damage from the bullet's path through the muscles in his back making Eames' face pinch tight when there's a chill in the air. But Eames never brings it up, just as Eames never brings up how he earned the wound in the first place. 

Arthur is gentle there, over the scar, but as he drops lower he tightens his grip on Eames' skin, digging his nails in because he knows Eames loves that. He's mouthing over Eames' neck, now, and slipping a hand down the front of his baggy swim trunks. Eames groans when Arthur takes him in hand, slow and firm. Arthur is always quietly impressed by how hard Eames can get, even on hardcore painkillers, too deep in a bottle of Scotch, or near-cooking in an uncomfortably warm tub of chlorine.

When he slips Eames' foreskin back, thumb grazing gently over the oh-so-sensitive head, Arthur is rewarded with what might be his favorite sound: a sharp intake of breath followed by a slow sigh. The slight shiver at the end is a sure sign Eames is completely focused on Arthur even if his eyes have been closed for a few minutes now.

Arthur strokes him gently, an easy rhythm born of familiarity and patience. Arthur is leaning back now, watching Eames' face and trying not to think too hard about how strangely beautiful he finds the crow's feet around Eames' eyes, or the horrifically crooked tips of his bottom teeth when they peak over his slack (gorgeous, plump) bottom lip.

When Arthur starts feeling Eames' thighs tense beneath him, he takes pity. Though he knows Eames would have no problem contaminating the hot tub, he'd much rather Eames finish elsewhere. He thinks about taking Eames back up to their room and the way Eames will arch off the bed, blinded by pleasure as empties himself down Arthur's throat. Eames is easily the most responsive lover Arthur has ever had, though the thought feels oddly heavy in Arthur's head.

Arthur's plans are foiled, though, the moment Arthur's hand begins to slip from where it's wrapped around Eames' cock. Eames whimpers, hands grasping painfully at Arthur's hips, holding him close. "No, no, please, Arthur. Please." 

Arthur feels unexpectedly frantic, eager to sooth Eames and take the edge of desperation from his voice. Something about the sound of urgency in Eames voice makes pain rise, sharp, in Arthur's chest. He rests his forehead gently again Eames', shushing softly and wrapping his hand securely around Eames' length. "Shhh, I've got you. I've got you." Eames shudders, shoulders sagging in relief. 

His breathing is heavy now, grip still strong on Arthur's hipbones. Arthur knows he's close, so he slips his other hand down and gently cups Eames' balls, a familiar weight even submerged in the water. Eames reacts as he always has, keening a little at the intensity of sensation. A moment later, Arthur can feel Eames' jerking in his hands, a long low moan echoing in the tiled pool room. He works Eames through it, pushing him just past the pleasure into oversensitivity - that point Eames seems to love. It put Arthur's teeth on edge the time Eames tried to do it to him, but that was alright; Arthur liked learning what Eames wanted.

When Eames' eyes open, Arthur feels immediately sheepish - he's been caught staring. But Eames just gives him a tired smile, open and honest. "Darling," he says, like it's an entire sentence instead of just an endearment. Maybe it is.

When Arthur finally convinces Eames to get out of the disgustingly hot water, he notices that Eames is moving easier than he did that morning. There's less tightness near the wound and Eames doesn't favor his left side. He stands straight, towel thrown over his shoulder as he drips all over the tile. 

For one horrible, heartbreaking moment, the water dripping and pooling near Eames' feet reminds Arthur of the blood that fell when Eames was suddenly standing in front of Arthur when the gun went off, but Arthur shakes his head and the vision flees, replaced by the image of Eames gleefully pointing out the jizz floating in the jacuzzi. 

Arthur laughs and reminds himself that even if he didn't realize he loved Eames until the man took a bullet for him, Arthur had at least already put in enough bedroom hours with Eames to understand that post-orgasm goofiness was a natural part of Eames' refractory period. He fervently hopes they will make it back to their hotel room before Eames' progresses to the next phase and drapes his naked, incredibly heavy self over Arthur in a (failed, but admirable) attempt to snuggle.


End file.
